


Here & Now

by orphan_account



Series: The Ampersand Series [2]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:20:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 18,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2138484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was an urge to scream, loud and long, until she appeared out of the nothingness. Her bright eyes and blond hair lighting up every dank corner of his soul. "You said you'd keep her safe, and now you can't even find her, Dixon. Some protector you are."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Aquí y Ahora](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1885044) by [Ekhi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ekhi/pseuds/Ekhi)



> Mentions of self-harm. Please read with care.

Daryl couldn't tell how long he had been out; how long fever dreams had replaced waking life, and what, if any of it, had been real. Running a hand over his face, sticky from dried sweat, he remembered Beth vaguely; how she had crouched in front of him, blond hair closer to a halo, promising to make him soup. How long ago had that been?

His mouth felt wicked dry. Daryl ran his tongue over his cracked lips as he sat up slowly. He looked around the room, trying to gather the time. He figured it to be six or seven at night. The sun was simmering down into gold shades that cast long shadows, and there was nothing to be heard in the house. He picked up the water bottle on the table beside him and drank longer than he knew was smart - especially if he had been out a while, and Beth had went through their meager supply.

"Beth?" he called, voice raspy.

No response. His heart clenched in a way that was too familiar whenever she didn't answer him immediately. _Don't go panicking_ , he told himself, _maybe the girl went into town; she's sure as hell stubborn enough to take off lookin' for medicine when you go and get the sniffles_. He walked slowly from the living room into the kitchen, hoping to find her staring out the big window into the yard, or at least a note - she did know he could read, right?

Daryl felt light headed still - could tell from the thick fog in his head that he was still far from well. He blinked heavily at the can of soup he saw sitting on the counter. Hadn't she been just about to make him soup? He clenched his fist, nails digging angrily into his palm. _It ain't what it looks like. She's probably made more than a couple cans of soup._

He leaned heavily on the counter. There was an urge to scream, loud and long, until she appeared out of the nothingness. Her bright eyes and blond hair lighting up every dank corner of his soul. _You said you'd keep her safe, and now you can't even find her, Dixon. Some protector you are. Fuck up, just like your ol' man_. He tried to wish the thoughts away, but they remained as he pushed his body up the stairs so quickly it made his head swim.

Nothing looked familiar, as though the heat of his fever had burned the hallways and the bedroom into nothing. But he recognized her pack. Her sweater - it was getting dark out, wouldn't she be cold? The journal, left on the bed, closed with the pen next to it. He sat down heavily on the comforter, knees giving out as much as he insisted for them to hold, to move, to run.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut against the images of before. Her pack, once again, left. And Beth gone, so quickly and suddenly, as if she had never existed. As if she had never looked at him and held him as like he was worth a damn. Well, what was he worth now?

"Damn it, Beth," Daryl hissed to himself. "You can't be gone."

He grabbed the journal and opened it, expecting to find it empty except for the words he had written there for her. She had never had a chance to mention it. Had it made her smile? Cry? Had she even looked inside of it? But when he flipped to the first page, he saw Beth's handwriting, tinier and more feminine than he could've ever imagined:

_Day two: I never dream about M. It's as if what happened with him is so horrific I can't even recreate it without focus or will - neither of which I'll lend my memories. Let that cabin burn. Let T. & J. burn. Let M. burn and turn to ash._

Daryl threw the journal across the room. It smashed into the mirror, cracking the glass and sending shards of it falling like rain. If Beth had wanted Mark gone, Daryl would've searched 'til the day he died; fill him with holes and watch the red spill out - funny how monsters bled the same as people. Daryl had certainly seen enough of it to know.

Had she left him? The doubt ate away at Daryl. She had done nothing but try to leave since the moment he had found her - was afraid that he wouldn't want her around, not when he knew - and he just kept screwing it up with his temper. After their time together, as wrong as it may have seemed, he thought of her as his - his to teach, his to look out for, his to return to her sister. He had fucked it up then and he had fucked it up now.

Part of Daryl knew if Beth was going to leave, she would have taken her pack... but maybe she had wanted to leave him with the supplies - especially since she had known he was sick. Or maybe she had left it so he would think she hadn't gone and would wait around to give her more of a head start - but his gut ached the same way it had when she had been taken, and every day since until he had found her.

With his body too weak to run as he first had, he walked out into the yard, and then into the forest. The crickets echoed emptiness. He felt many, many miles away from Beth. He walked carefully into the foliage, eyes trained on the ground, trying to focus; they watered at the effort - at least that's what Daryl told himself. He was alone again - the man who many said was an island unto himself, left deserted on the sandy shores of his darkness. 

"What do I do, Beth?" he asked the wind. "God damn it, what am I supposed to do now?"


	2. Chapter 2

_"You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon," Beth said._

_"Can't you just stay put, girl?" he asked._

_Around them the house burned to the ground. They sat on the porch, watching everything turn to ash. The moonshine in his hand turned to torn-out journal pages. He uncrumpled them. Smoothed them out. The lines were blank and he threw them into the fire._

_"We don't always get to choose," Beth told him._

_He thought that her hair looked white against the flames. That her eyes were bluer than usual. She rested her chin in her hand and regarded him seriously. Her brows drew together until a line creased the skin of her forehead. He thought about smoothing it away with his thumb, but his hands were always dirty._

_"You ain't gotta go," he said._

_"I do," she said. "But you'll find me."_

_"Can't we just stay here?" he asked._

_"No," she said sadly. "It's already gone."_

Daryl woke with a force, as though he was dropped from a great distance onto the bed. He didn't know how long he had been out, but the fuzziness in his head had finally begun to fade away. He blinked blearily, trying to undo the knot in his stomach that the dream had left him with.

He knew he had to find Beth. It had killed Daryl to know he was too weak to track her the moment he'd realized she was missing. Had it been a few years ago, he would've tore through the forest looking for her, delirious with fever and bones aching with flu. _What good would you be to the girl dead, Dixon?_ he had asked himself.

It had proven to be the right decision because despite his fear and worry and anxiety, he had passed out almost immediately. He could not remember waking once during the night. He may not be better yet, but he was well enough now. Idle hands were the devil's work, and he had done the devil's work long enough.

Chugging the bottled water Beth had left next to the bed, he got up, stretching his stiff muscles. He went over what he knew, though the facts were so few it was depressing. She had woken him when it was still light out - maybe ten or eleven in the morning. When he realized she was gone, it was almost dusk. And now, it was probably around one or two in the afternoon.

While he gathered their supplies, he tried to calculate just how far someone could've gotten in that time. Though he was shit at math, and had always been, this wasn't no 'one train departing at whatever o'clock' problems. This was a real situation, with real variables, and for some reason his brain was always quick with that. Would they be on foot? Would they have a car? Hell, was it even a 'they'?

Still, something in his gut told him it was.

He grabbed his bow and made his way into the kitchen. He stuffed as much water and food as he could manage into his pack. He looked out into the yard, towards the treeline. _Where are ya, Beth?_ he wondered for the millionth time. Quickly, he made his way outside towards the forest. Daryl examined the ground with a critical eye; he walked around in a complete circle before he found it.

On the ground, next to hard tracks in a pile on pine needles, was a scrap of denim. The shade looked to be about the same as Beth's jeans. He picked it up, clenching it in his fist. From the scene around him, it was easy to tell something had went wrong pretty quickly. His best guess was she had either tripped, or had been thrown, but given the complete absence of Beth, he guessed the latter.

Daryl felt anger clawing its way up his entire body. He wanted to lash out. To kick, swing, hit something. To scream. There wasn't time though. No time to lose his shit. No time to flip out. No time to swing golf clubs at walkers. He had to find Beth. The more time passed, potentially the more distance was put between them.

Daryl picked up three sets of footprints. They appeared to belong to two men, and Beth. He kept the piece of denim clenched in his fist. He told himself not to think of it. _Find Beth first. Then kill. Then destroy. Find Beth first. She's what's important. As long as she's alive. As long as she's alive. Find. Beth. First. Find her before..._

He found himself on the road they had taken only a couple days ago. He looked both ways, praying for some sort of sign. Right or left. Maybe even straight across. Which way? _Damn it, Beth, which way?_ He circled a small distance around, looking for hints or clue when he stumbled across a hair-band. Beth was always picking those things up, and now she had dropped one.

_Good girl,_ Daryl thought. _Smart girl_.

He picked up the scrap of elastic and pocketed it. Maybe it had been dropped accidentally. Hell, maybe it wasn't even hers. Maybe he was a fool for even hoping, but it looked like Beth's - and almost nothin' about that girl was an accident, definitely not anymore. He squinted against the sun. At least it gave him a direction. A flicker of optimism. Something that felt a lot like Beth, but wasn't.

Daryl began jogging, pushing his body immediately into discomfort. _This is no time to be a pussy_ , Merle's voice said in the back of his mind. _You ready for a war, little brother?_ Despite the stitch in his side, despite the remnants of his illness, despite his pounding head - Daryl was ready. And Daryl wasn't going to lose.

Not this time.


	3. Chapter 3

Daryl felt like his whole life had been running; that he had been born running, and he would die running. Sweat dripped down his face, getting in his eyes and burning. He finally stopped in a small town with run down buildings, and tried to catch his breath.

There had been so few footprints or signs of struggle that he could only imagine whoever had taken Beth had went by car. _Damn it. God damn it, fucking shit_. Grabbing a water bottle out of his pack, he chugged the contents and tossed the empty bottle aside in anger. Why couldn't they catch a break, just once?

"Just one... fuckin'... time," he growled to himself.

He felt the contents of his stomach attempt to claw their way up his throat. Daryl swallowed and swallowed again. He would not be sick. He was not some little punk bitch. Time was of the essence and he didn't have a second to waste pukin' up his guts everywhere.

Daryl forced his legs to move, not as fast as he would've liked, but still far from slow. He took in the town around him, the boarded up windows, and two or three cars left abandoned. Just one of them needed to have gas. He could hotwire it - he could hotwire anything if it meant finding Beth, but it needed gas.

Saddling up to the first car, a beat-up red tin-can, he suddenly stopped and looked a few feet ahead of him. There was a truck, that unlike the rest of the junkers, seemed rather well maintained. Even clean. Daryl jogged up to it and placed his hand on the hood - warm. Not just sun warm, but driving warm.

Beth!

Daryl wanted to shout her name at the top of his lungs. There was no way to know it was even her, but it was the first good sign he had gotten all day. His eyes viciously swept the surroundings. The truck wasn't particularly parked in front of any building, but the owners couldn't be too far.

While he was looking for a way inside of a boarded up building, he heard a woman scream. He heard Beth. Daryl knew it, could feel it. He spun around, trying to figure out where the sound had come from. Suddenly it came again, with a loud crash.

Daryl took off running toward the direction it came from. He stopped outside of a building with its door torn off and placed back on. Daryl could hear two men talking in hushed tones and heard one word that made his blood boil: Blondie.

He grit his teeth so hard his jaw cracked under the pressure. Daryl silently moved to one of the windows and saw the men further inside. One was taller, slightly more muscular - the other was shorter and skinny.

"Come on, Mark!" the one guy exclaimed, "Blondie ain't even pretty at this point. I think it's time we just get it over with."

Daryl saw red. Mark. He had touched Beth, again. Had hurt Beth, again. Daryl was going to kill him. There was no doubt about it, and Daryl wouldn't even make it fast. Not for either of them. Not until they were bloody, and crying out for their Mama's. Not until they fuckin' earned it.

Ripping the door off the entrance, Daryl charged into the building, putting an arrow in Mark's leg before the muscular man could even register what the sound had been. The smaller man, Tommy, scrambled for a weapon but Daryl sent his second arrow into his chest, right by the heart.

"You motherfuckers!" Daryl shouted.

"Listen, man," Tommy said, "you can have her."

"What's left of her," Mark added, with a shit-eating grin.

Daryl strode up over Mark and punched him, putting all of his weight behind it. He hit the man again, and again, and again, getting lost in the crash of bone against bone. Mark went limp - unconscious or dead, Daryl couldn't tell and didn't really care.

"You touched her!" Daryl shouted. "You made her want to die, you pieces of shit. She's a good girl. Ain't done nothin' to no one in her whole damn life."

Tommy went to move again, but Daryl kicked him hard with his boot clad foot. He kicked him a second time, hearing the crunch of rib caving in. The wind went out of the man with a sickening rush, and he laid back down on the floor.

"Aw, come on!" Daryl shouted. "No fight in ya? Not as fun if I'm not a girl? Come on, fight me, you asshole."

Tommy didn't move. Simply looked up at Daryl with dark, dead eyes. The sound of his breathing grew wet and heavy, and Daryl knew he was dying. That the man was asking him for a clean kill. To just end it. Instead, Daryl pressed on the arrow, digging it deeper into the man's flesh and spit on the floor next to him.

He turned to Mark, loading his bow once more to put an arrow through the grotesquely swollen eye. Then, for good measure, kicked him hard and swift in the head. Daryl turned back to Tommy, who appeared to be fading quickly.

"Where is she?" Daryl demanded.

"Back..." Tommy wheezed, "the back room..."

Daryl left them, tearing through the rooms until he reached the back of the building. He slid the bolt lock off the back door and opened it. His heart clenched at what he saw. There sat Beth, tied up in a chair, her face almost as swollen and bruised and plastered in blood as Mark's. She was covered in a tattered and dirty t-shirt that was just short enough for him to know there was nothing underneath. 

"Beth," Daryl said softly, "Beth, I'm here now."

She whimpered, a small, painful noise. He walked behind Beth and bent down to untie her until she started struggling again. Daryl drew back quickly, moving around to look at her, hands in front of him as if surrendering.

"Beth, it's just me. It's Daryl," he said. "You're safe now. I got you, girl. I got you. You're okay. I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"

"D-Dar..." she stopped and coughed.

"That's right - just me, girl," he said.

She suddenly looked up at him, the blue of her one good eye staring at his face. Daryl could see every mark, every cut, every bruise. His fists clenched, gut churned. He wanted to lash out, but there was no one left to lash out at. Only this girl, this one girl who had weaseled her way into his heart.

"We're gettin' out of here, Beth," he said. "It's over now."


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm gonna have to pick you up, girl," Daryl said.

Beth said nothing, but shook her head slowly, as if the small movement pained her. _Damn it, she ain't gonna be able to up and walk outta here_ , he thought to himself. He looked helplessly around the room, hoping for an answer, but found none.

"Listen, Beth, it'll be just like before, y'remember?" he asked, crouching down in front of her. "A serious piggy-back, except... y'know, front-wise."

"Like... my ankle," she said hoarsely.

"Yup," Daryl responded. "Just like when y'busted your ankle. It's gonna hurt to move ya, but I guess you'd know that already."

"Yes," she wheezed out.

Daryl looked up into her face. It pained him to see her this way - one eye closed over, cheekbone swollen and purple, bottom lip split. He could make out bruises on her neck and shoulders. He imagined her ribs were dead ticklish, too.

"It's gonna be okay, Beth. Y'trust me?" he asked.

She raised her arm to rest on his shoulder, gripping her torn up fingers in the fabric of his vest. Daryl began counting to three but lifted her up on two - an old trick he had learned from the mom's on TV. She whimpered in pain, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Y'don't hafta to look," he said when he reached the door, knowing the corpses of her attackers were only a few feet away.

"No," Beth forced out. "I need to see it."

He walked out of the room, into the hallway. It only took him seconds to reach the bodies. Wanting to get her out of the building as soon as possible, he lengthened his stride only to have her stop him.

"No," she said. "Just stay for a minute."

He stopped. Beth surveyed the wreckage, saying nothing - not even reacting. Daryl wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't this. Suddenly Beth tugged on his vest where her hand was still fisted. When he looked down at her, she was staring up at him.

"I should've been the one to kill them," she said.

"I know," Daryl responded. "But they're dead all the same."

"I know," Beth echoed. "Let's go."

Daryl walked her outside, and seeing no other option, opened the truck door and deposited her in the front seat. She shifted uncomfortably, probably wishing like hell she was anywhere else. Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I know it ain't ideal, but given the circumstances..." he trailed off.

"It's... fine," Beth said in a clip tone.

"Just stay here. I'm gonna go fish the keys off..."

"Mark," she said quietly. "He doesn't... he didn't let Tommy drive."

"You ain't gotta say their names," Daryl told her.

"I'm not sure it makes a difference," Beth said, turning her head to look out the windshield.

Daryl lingered for a second, wanting to say something, but not knowing what. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he took off back towards the building. It took him only a couple of minutes to get the keys off the dead man. He grimaced.

"Piece of shit," he spat again at the corpse. "I ain't a God fearin' man, but I gotta hope there's a special place in Hell for you - who knows, maybe I'll be seein' you and we can do this over and over again."

By the time he got back to the truck, Beth was leaning her head against the window, fighting to stay conscious. He slid into the driver's seat and started the truck up. It had more than a half tank of gas and no out right problems - it would have to do.

"You ready?" he asked Beth.

"Where are we going?"

"Back," he said. "The house is our best bet. We need to get y'fixed up and you need to rest."

"Okay," Beth said. "The bed was nice."

"Well, we'll get you two reacquainted soon enough."

He made a U-turn and headed back towards the house they had been at only days before. Beth seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. Daryl kept an eye on her, and woke her when she was out for more than a couple minutes at a time. Couldn't be too careful in a situation like this.

Daryl watched the trees blur by him. He tried not to think, not to imagine, what she had been put through. He had no idea how to help her - not emotionally, at least. He had been blundering through at best before, and now... He looked over at her, small and broken in the passenger seat.

Beth's breathing caught in her throat and she moaned fretfully in her sleep; the sound made Daryl's muscles snap taut with anger both suddenly and immediately. He wanted to lash out, to keep swinging, and killing - but there was nothing left to fight against. There was only Beth.

"Beth," he said gruffly. When she didn't wake, he said her name again, louder this time. "Beth!"

She woke with a start, hand fluttering to her throat. Her gaze darted around the truck and settled on Daryl. Beth's shoulders slumped with relief and she took a deep breath. Then another. And another. She turned to face him, exhaustion still clear on her face.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said.

A moment passed between them in silence. It was heavier than anything he had felt. Every little bit of him wished to have the right thing to say - something that would make her smile again, laugh again. Something that would make her forget.

"Hey, Daryl?" she said softly.

"Yeah?" he said, eyes on the road.

"I knew you'd find me," she responded matter-of-factly.

His chest ached at her words with something he could not name - something he had never felt before - and something he never wanted to lose again.


	5. Chapter 5

Daryl had let Beth sleep while he carried her inside the house. He thought maybe it would be easier for her, not having to see where she had been taken, the long line of trees towering menacingly. Beth moaned in her sleep uncomfortably when he sat her down on the bed.

"Hey, girl," Daryl said, nudging her arm. "Beth!"

She woke up, looking at his face, trying to register where she was. A part of him wondered if she thought she was dreaming - that she had fallen asleep in this bed, and woken up again thinking it was just another nightmare. _I wish t'hell that was the truth._

"Sorry," Beth muttered.

"I got this for ya," he said holding out a water bottle. "Drink up."

He watched her drink the bottle faster than was probably smart, but he didn't have the heart to tell her to slow down. Who knew if she had even had anything to drink since she had been taken? She winced a little with each swallow, but didn't stop until every drop was gone.

"Better?" he asked.

"Mmh," Beth hummed. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

"I gotta fix ya up first, Beth," he said.

"Yeah? You got a magic wand I don't know about?" she asked bitterly.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Daryl would've given anything to undo what had been done to Beth - his friend Beth, his girl Beth; the one person he was supposed to be watching out for. The one who kept slipping through his hands like sand and coming back changed. _Bippity, bopitty, boo,_ he snarled at himself. _What fucking good am I?_

"I need to make sure that nothin' is broken, and clean up some of the cuts," he said. "Can't risk you gettin' an infection."

"Nothing's broken," she said.

"How would you know?" he asked.

"My father," she replied. "Trust me, nothing's broken."

"I'd feel better 'bout it if you'd let me check," Daryl protested.

"Well, I'd feel better if the water had been moonshine, but we both gotta make do, I guess."

"At least let me help with your scrapes," he said.

"Fine," she relented. "Is there a first aid kit?"

"Yeah, I got it right here," he said, picking it up off the nightstand.

"I'll be able to do most of it myself," she said, reaching for the kit, "but I think I've got some cuts on my back that I won't be able to reach. And my face, probably."

"Are you gonna be okay for me to...?" Daryl began to ask, trailing off awkwardly, not wanting to say it.

"Probably not, but we don't really have a choice, right?" she asked, her chin trembling as if she was about to cry.

"Beth, I need ya to look at me," Daryl said. When her gazed flickered up to his, he continued. "I'd never hurt ya, girl. I'd rather cut off my own arms. You just gotta trust me for a little bit longer, and then it'll be done. Just like that. I'll be as fast as I can."

She took a deep breath and scooted her body forward to let him sit behind her. Daryl moved the kit and lowered himself onto the mattress. Suddenly he felt as though he had no idea what to do with his hands. Sensing his hesitation, she lifted her shirt up as modestly as she could.

Daryl saw red - a murderous haze. Cuts, both shallow and deep, and bruises. Everywhere. All over her pale skin. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles cracked loudly in the silence. He could make out fingerprints. _Fuckin' animals, God damn animals..._

"Daryl?" Beth asked, her voice small. "It's okay."

"It ain't," Daryl responded with an air of finality. He tried to steady his hands as he began disinfecting her cuts. She didn't even flinch, but he felt her breathing go erratic at the touch of his fingers against her bare skin. "Beth, y'okay?"

"Just... can you talk to me?" she asked. "If I can hear your voice, I know it's you and it's alright."

"Talkin' ain't really my strong suit," he admitted. "But I can give it a shot. Got any suggestions for topics?"

"Anything."

"One time, in math class, I started my textbook on fire."

"What?" Beth asked.

"The teacher was goin' on and on about long division or some shit," Daryl said, "and I was in the ninth grade, I think. And I was so bored. I had my lighter in my pocket, and I just started to burn the edge of the book. I sat at the back by myself and I didn't think anyone would notice. But next thing I knew the book just went up. Best guess is that Merle had spilled somethin' on it - like a vodka somethin'."

"Wow," Beth said, her breathing having slowed down some. "What happened after that?"

"Well, the teacher was less than pleased. All the kids thought it was pretty badass though. Of course, they thought I did it on purpose. Got suspended for a while. There were rumors going around by the time I got back that I had planned on burning the school down."

"Well, you did burn down a house," she said a little wistfully, as if the memory was so long ago she couldn't even remember she had been there. Daryl supposed though, that to her, the girl in the memory was a completely different person. But he didn't see it that way.

"I got led astray by a bad influence," Daryl said ruefully.

"Yeah, well if someone suggested that you should jump off a cliff, would you do it?" Beth asked, looking back over her shoulder.

"I'unno," he said, pulling her shirt back down. "Maybe if they were blonde."


	6. Chapter 6

While Beth slept, Daryl found himself outside of the house, staring up into the starless sky. For once in his life, he didn't know what to do with his hands; swinging, shooting, hunting - all of that came naturally. But this, healing someone, helping someone... he wasn't sure his blunt fingers and their square nails were cut out for the job.

He had stayed with her for a good hour while she slept. Just watchin' her, prayin' she didn't wake up and see him. Daryl had meant to leave after checking in on her, but she had just looked so damn small in that bed. Every time her brow creased, or she muttered in her sleep, he wished there was more that he could do - anything that he could do - but all he could manage was starin'.

There was a headache that had been building behind his eyes - some kind of terrible pain that he couldn't shake. It blurred the edges of vision and made him dizzy. Daryl pressed his fingers into his temples, but they were as useless as they had ever been when it came to anything important. Anything that required a little gentleness, a little care.

Daryl Dixon, roughneck. Daryl Dixon, hillbilly. Daryl Dixon, emotionally stunted. He didn't know jack shit about women in the best of situations. What was he supposed to say to her? How was he supposed to know when to push her and when to back off? He was notorious for letting the first shit-brained thing he thought just come flyin' out his trap. Daryl groaned, feeling a sharp twinge of pain just between his eyes.

"Penny for your thoughts," said a small, strained voice.

Daryl turned to see Beth standing in the doorway, covered in a sheen of sweat. Her face was pale, making her bruises look deeper than before. She grimaced, leaning her weight onto her left foot. Daryl watched her pull a red sweater around herself, something she must have dug out of the closet in the bedroom. She looked like hell, but it was the happiest he had ever been to see the flames.

"Penny's worth less than it used to be, girl," he said. "You shouldn't have gotten out of bed."

"Well, didn't kill me," she said with a slow, pained shrug of her shoulder.

"S'pose not," he agreed.

He wanted to order her back into the room. To tell her to rest. To stop being so damn stubborn. But the sound of her voice calmed his thoughts some and it was hard to leave her - for any length of time. Daryl was sure he would never feel one hundred percent certain she would be there when he got back. Even now.

"What were you thinking about?" Beth asked again. "You looked mighty pensive."

"Just wishin' like hell someone who could actually help you was here. Like your sister. Or Carol. Or anyone else, really."

Beth said nothing. Instead she looked up into the inky black sky. He wondered what she saw - what she thought of the darkness. How it stretched and devoured everything around it. How you could get lost in it.

"Beth," Daryl started, "are you sure... I could find Maggie for ya. I could do that much, at least."

She only shook her head in response. Her expression, which had been open before, seemed to shut against him; and once again he was on the outside looking in. _Fuckin' shit_ , he cursed at himself. _Way to go, dumbass, off to a great start already._

"I ain't gonna push ya, girl," Daryl said, trying to correct his mistake immediately. "But it's an open offer if ya go and change your mind."

"And," Beth started, her voice so quiet he almost couldn't hear her, "if you ever change your mind - if you want to go find Rick, or Carol, or Michonne..."

Part of him could not believe she was still on about it - he had to remind himself that she wasn't trying to hurt him. That she was pushing him away because she thought he would be happier without her. He tamped down the urge to lash out at her, though his anger seemed to boil in the back of his throat, waiting to spill out if he wasn't careful.

He had to be fuckin' careful, for once in his life.

"Nope," he responded simply.

"Daryl, I mean it," she argued. "I'm not saying you have to. I'm just saying, open offer."

"Ain't nowhere else I'd rather be," he said gruffly.

"Yeah," Beth said sarcastically, "we've got ourselves a real dream situation going on."

"You're here," he said. "You're alive. That was the dream."

"Maybe you should've aimed bigger."

"Seemed mighty big at the time," he responded.

Beth said nothing to that, but only continued to stare up at the sky. Daryl got the urge to hold her hand, the way he had once in the graveyard, but was afraid it would make her uncomfortable. He pressed his nails into his palms until it stung.

"You know," Beth said, turning to face him one last time before she left, "I used to love the stars, but I think I like it better this way now."

Daryl wasn't sure what she was trying to tell him. He was shit at metaphors, reading between the lines - anything that required a bit of subtly. All he knew was that, deep down in his tired bones, something about what she said made him sadder than he had any right to be.


	7. Chapter 7

"Made you soup, girl," Daryl said through the bedroom door.

After they had spoken, she had went back to sleep - or at least, Daryl assumed she had. Either way, he hadn't caught a glimpse of her since. He was balancing a hot bowl of chicken noddle soup on the tips of his fingers, feeling the heat burn and gnaw at his skin.

When she didn't answer, he called again. Knocked with his free hand. After a few more minutes, he opened the door. He saw Beth sitting on her knees onto of the bed, journal placed in front of her. He also noticed the glass had been cleaned up from the broken mirror and disposed of.

"I told you to relax," Daryl said. "Not go cleanin' up my messes."

Beth made a small sound in the back of her throat, but otherwise made no move to acknowledge his presence. Her eyes were fixated on the page. Daryl could see her tiny writing in the back of his mind, her words haunting him still.

"Y'hungry?" he asked, setting the bowl of soup down on the dresser.

"No," Beth said. "Did you read this?"

"I had to," Daryl responded. "Thought maybe there was somethin' in it that could help me find ya."

"Of course."

"I'm real sorry 'bout it," Daryl said. "I ain't never had a... diary, or whatever... but I still know enough not to go reading someone else's."

"It's okay," Beth ground out, finally looking up at him. "You were just trying to find me. I can't be mad about that."

"Can if ya want," Daryl countered.

"Lot of good it would do me," she said.

Daryl rubbed his palm against the back of his neck awkwardly. He picked the soup back up and set it down next to her on the bed stand. His eyes followed Beth as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and picked up the spoon, twirling it around in the noodles.

"Feelings ain't gotta do you any good. Or bad. You just feel 'em cause you feel 'em," Daryl said. "Not that I want ya to be pissed at me."

"I'm not," Beth insisted.

"Y'are," he said with a small smirk. "A little bit."

She said nothing but stuck a spoonful of soup in her mouth. Daryl watched her, feeling more pleased with himself for getting her to eat than he should. He shuffled back a few feet and leaned against the wall, not sure what to do with himself. Was she sick of him hovering? Did she want space?

"Well, I'm just glad you found me," Beth said softly.

"I wouldn't read it again, you know, if you wanted to..." Daryl started.

"I don't think so," Beth cut him off. "But I'll keep the book in case I change my mind."

"Okay," Daryl said easily.

"Did you have some soup too?" Beth asked.

"Yeah," Daryl answered. "Figured you were still asleep."

Beth continued to eat the soup slowly. He listened to the clank and scratch of the metal against the glass. Her brow furrowed, either in pain or in thought, Daryl couldn't be sure.

"Y'okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Just my ribs."

Daryl nodded. He wished like hell he still had Merle's bag of medication, but that had gotten used up quicker than anyone expected - even rationing them. Daryl clenched his teeth, hating feeling useless.

"I could go back into town," he said. "Raid the stores and houses around. Maybe someone'll have something."

"As much as the possibility of a little relief is tempting, I'm not well enough to cover you. Or even myself. And you know it."

Daryl inclined his head, trying to think of another plan. Beth continued to eat her soup, not really looking at him. He took the opportunity to scan her over, taking in each bruise, cut, and injury. The longer he looked, the sicker he felt.

"Was it..."

"Was it what?" Beth asked, when he seemed unable to continue.

"Was it this bad last time?" he asked. "When you got out on your own, I mean. Were you this hurt?"

"No," Beth said. "They wanted to keep me around, so they didn't really do too much to hurt me. This time, they wanted to kill me, so..."

Suddenly, Daryl kicked his foot hard into the dresser. Something in his brain shut off, and his only response was violence. They had wanted to keep her around. So they could use her. Beth - use Beth. Blond hair, blue eyes, innocence - Beth. Beth who they touched. Beth who they tried to break. Their Beth. His Beth. He kicked the dresser again, knocking a dusty lamp to the ground.

"Daryl, you're scaring me," Beth said softly.

"Damn it, Beth, I'm sorry," Daryl said, her words stopping his rage like being splashed with cold water. "I didn't mean it."

"It's okay to be mad," she said, almost echoing his words to her. "I'm mad, too. But they're dead, Daryl. You can't keep chasing after ghosts for vengeance."

"I know," he said, exhaling slowly. "I keep tryin' just to focus on you, but it kills me, Beth. I was supposed to be lookin' out for you. Just like last time."

"You can't control anything in this world, Daryl," she said. "It's a miracle you even found me. You were sick as a dog last I saw you. The fever was talkin' more than you were."

"It's not enough."

"It's all we got," Beth responded. "I wish it were different too. I wish we had never went to that funeral home. That I went on being me and you went on being you. I wish that I could run away from all this. But this is all we got. I was taken. You found me. You didn't save me from everything, but you saved me from dying, and that's a whole hell of a lot nowadays."

"I guess it's not nothing."

"It's not nothing," she agreed quietly. "It's not."


	8. Chapter 8

Daryl felt the sun beating down on the back of his neck. As far as plans went, this one was pretty shit-brained, but he was committed to it now. He pushed the wheelbarrow over the uneven ground, cursing when water spilled out over the edge.

"Damn it," he spat, "God damn it all!"

He stopped to rest for a minute, picking at the callouses on his hands. The house was still a few yards away. In the last couple of days Beth had been moving around more and sleeping less - a good sign if ever there was one; and to Daryl, that was a cause for celebration.

Of course, he didn't feel comfortable praising her out right, and even if Daryl was, he worried it would bring up bad memories. Instead, he did the one thing he knew how to do - he used his actions. Yesterday Daryl had stumbled across a stream when he had been hunting, and saw the red wheelbarrow resting on the side of the house when he returned. He ran inside to check the downstairs bathroom - the tub was a bit small, but it was still a tub.

The idea had started forming in his head. Daryl began scouring the cabinets until he found shampoo and body wash. Hell, he could even heat some of the water up over a fire. A nice, hot bath. Anyone still alive in this fucked-up mess would love that, right?

Unfortunately, the trip to and from the house didn't leave much water by the end of it. He had already made about four trips, but Daryl thought he was starting to get the hang of it. The wheelbarrow now was still half full - a victory in its own right. And if he could get it the rest of the way without spilling anymore, then he'd have enough for Beth.

Gritting his teeth, Daryl started walking back, arms aching with exertion. Who knew trying to keep a wheelbarrow steady would be such hard work? By the time he reached the yard, he was thankful that all the water still remained. Daryl pulled his load up to the side of the house, and began filling the large bucket he'd found to heat up the water.

"What're you up to, Daryl Dixon?" said Beth from behind him.

"Damn it, girl," Daryl muttered to himself. "It was s'posed to be a surprise."

"You wanted to surprise me?" she asked.

"Ain't nothin' special. Just found a stream and thought you might wanna clean up."

"Are you saying I smell?" Beth asked in a laughing voice.

"Naw," Daryl said awkwardly. "Even if ya did, I wouldn't be able to smell ya over my pits."

"Well, if you wanted it to be a surprise, you shouldn't have spilled so much water inside," Beth said. "I stepped in a huge puddle leading into the bathroom."

"Shit," Daryl groused. "I didn't even think of that."

"I wish you would've told me. I could've helped."

"I wanted to do somethin' nice for ya, Beth," Daryl said. "Doesn't really work if I let you do half the heavy lifting."

Beth said nothing but came to stand beside him. They both looked at the flames flickering away in front of them. As the water began to heat up, steam rose from it, dancing phantom ballet in the air above them, mingling with the smoke. Light and dark. Beth looked at Daryl.

"Should be just 'bout ready," Daryl said. "I got the soaps set up in the bathroom. I'll take this in and rustle ya up a towel."

"Hey," she said. "Not so fast. Are you not going to let me say thank you first?"

"Y'don't need to."

"No," Beth argued. "This was really thoughtful, Daryl. I can't wait, honest. It's been so long since I've had a hot bath."

"I ain't noticed," Daryl joked. "Just thought the cold water might be a bit much still, y'know, with your pain."

"It's not so bad today," Beth said with a small smile. "Though if I knew it would get me a hot bath, I might've faked it."

"How'm I gonna be able to trust y'now, Beth?" Daryl asked.

"Lord knows," replied Beth, rolling her eyes. Before Daryl could take the water inside, Beth stopped him. "You know, I'm sure we could split the water no problem."

"Nope," Daryl responded. "Stop makin' a fuss and let a guy do somethin' nice."

"Alright, alright," Beth said, holding up her hands in defeat.

"Besides, I'm just gonna jump in the stream later," Daryl said. "Y'know, after you're finished."

"You gonna take the girly soap with you too?" she asked.

"I'unno," he replied. "Ma used to say I was like a dog anyways - as soon as I was clean, I'd just go rollin' in the mud. Whatever soap I use, I ain't gonna smell pretty for long."

Beth moved her head closer to him and sniffed. Daryl felt uncomfortable. He knew she must be smelling dirt, and sweat, and possibly blood. Ain't nothin' a girl would want to smell, he told himself.

"I kind of like the way you smell," she said. "I mean, you stink, but it's nice. You still always kinda smell like Daryl underneath."

"And what's that mean?"

"You know, like wind and motorcycle oil," Beth said. "Which is funny cause you haven't been on your motorcycle for ages now."

"Must be in the blood," he said with a smirk.

"Yeah, maybe," Beth said.

They walked into the house together silently. Daryl was careful not to spill the hot water, which was hard because the steam was rising up and burning his knuckles. When he reached the tub, Daryl dumped the hot water in with the cold, and watched as Beth swirled her hand under the surface and flicked the droplets off at him.

"You're in a good mood," Daryl commented.

"Well, ain't everyday a girl gets to take a bath anymore," she replied. "Now how 'bout that towel, Daryl Dixon?"


	9. Chapter 9

"I was wondering," Beth started, her wet hair drying in long ropes down her shoulders, "is the plan to stay here then? Like... long-term?"

"Good'a place as any," Daryl said. "Shouldn't move 'round too much if you don't wanna come 'cross anyone."

Beth hummed a little to herself and rested her hands on the oak table. Daryl noted that her nails had been scrubbed clean - _hell, girl probably washed behind her ears, too._ He smirked a little to himself, using the soup cans scattered on the table to make a tower.

"I probably wouldn't be much good runnin' around anyways," Beth muttered.

"You're getting there," Daryl said. "You'll be fixed up before y'know it."

"It's just hard," Beth replied. "Just sittin' around. Too much time to think. When... before... I would keep moving until I dropped. I miss that."

Daryl knew what she meant. For a long time after his brother died, that was exactly what Daryl had done. Just keep moving. Man the fences. Get supplies. Help people. Just keep moving. Because when he stopped his thoughts got dark - well, got darker. And when he laid down to sleep, there was nothing but his aching body and the night.

"You should come on the next hunt," Daryl said. "We don't hafta go too far."

"We're not even out of canned goods yet though," Beth commented.

"Ain't the point," he said gruffly. "You want out again, I'll get ya out, Beth."

"Can I use the crossbow?" she asked with a slight smile.

"Y'can try, but your arms look even punier than last time. Ain't got no clue how you hope to hold it up."

"Stronger than I look," she said.

"Ain't that the truth," he shot back, eyes scanning her face.

"So, how cold was the water?" she asked, referring to his swim in the lake earlier.

"You don't wanna know, Beth," he said. "Not when you'll be going in there soon enough."

"God, please, don't remind," Beth said, drawing the edges of her sweater closer to her body. "It was really nice, you know. The bath."

"Smelled like a gaden in there when you were done."

"You smell like a garden too - we used the same soap."

"Yeah," he said easily. "Guess I do."

"I still can't believe you did that for me."

"Cause I never do nice things for ya," Daryl teased.

"You do nice things for me all the time - they just don't always involve bubbles."

"Well, don't get used to it," Daryl said; but he knew if it would make her smile, make her feel just a little bit better, he would do it every day - blisters and pain be damned. And he didn't want to question too closely why her happiness was so damn important to him. He just knew that it was.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Dixon," Beth replied jokingly.

They settled into an easy silence. After a while, Beth held up a can of beans to him, to which he nodded. Picking up his crossbow, he went outside to start them a fire. Nothing worse than cold beans. Beth searched the kitchen for the can opener and a clean pot. It was a practiced dance they both knew the steps too; comforting and familiar.

Once they got the beans on, Daryl watched the flames. He remembered when he was younger that there were people who claimed they could see the future in them. All he could see were the bright colours bleeding into one another while his eyes watered from the smoke.

"Do you miss them?" Beth asked from beside him on the grass. Her voice was small and quiet.

"That's life," he said. "You're always missin' someone. I had you, but I was missin' everyone else. Then I had everyone else, but I was missin' you. Maggie had Sasha but was missin' Glenn. Then she had Glenn but was missin' you. It's always somethin'."

"I guess that's true," Beth said, resting her chin on her knees. "I just feel bad, keeping you from them."

"You ain't keepin' me from no one, girl," he said. "I'm a man. I go where I want when I want. If I wanted to go, I would."

"You might be a man, Daryl Dixon, but you're a good one. Even if you wanted to leave me here, you couldn't. Not in this state."

"'cept I don't wanna leave you here, or anywhere, so there ain't no damn point discussing it."

"It was easier alone," she said quietly. "I'm glad you're here. I really am. But I feel bad because sometimes I miss it."

"Ain't no point in feelin' bad. I think anyone left knows it's easier alone. You don't lose no one; leave no one behind. You can disappear, or give into the darkness, and no one will pull you back."

"I just feel like I don't know what it means to be me anymore," she said to the toes of her shoes.

"You're a person. You ain't a toaster, or a chair."

"Are the beans done?" she asked abruptly.

"Just 'bout," Daryl said, not letting her change in subject startle him. Frankly, he was amazed she was sharing with him at all. She had been so quiet since he'd found her. "You wanna get the plates?"

Suddenly Daryl felt Beth's small hand in his. Her skin was so soft compared to his. Heat flooded into his face and rushed down his body - he could even feel it in the soles of his feet. She squeezed his hand gently. For a second Daryl thought to himself, _I wish I could freeze this moment right here_ but he could feel the end of it coming the second she touched him.

"I just..." Beth said, taking her hand away, "... you know... thank you, Daryl."

"Just beans, girl," he said awkwardly, trying not to think of that second where his fingers itched to close around hers and hold her there with him, for just a little bit longer.


	10. Chapter 10

It happened suddenly, without warning; or maybe there had been some warning sign, but Daryl had missed it. No one had ever accused him of being too in tune with his own feelings, let alone someone else's.

Beth had been making leaps and bounds for the last couple of days - laughing, smiling. She had even been sleeping through the night. Maybe it was exhaustion, or relief. Daryl hadn't asked. Something about a gift horse. They settled into a lazy routine, and sometimes she looked lost, just for a second, but she blinked it away like a rain cloud, or a bad thought.

Then Daryl touched her - something he had done before - just a hand on her shoulder while he was passing and she flinched away from him in a way that made him feel like complete scum. She looked at him with big, startled eyes, as if she couldn't believe what she had done, and stuttered out an apology. Then he apologized. Then she apologized, until they were talking over one another, scrambling for the fleeting normalcy that had seemed to disappeared so easily.

From that, it had all went bad so quickly. She either didn't sleep, or woke up screaming. Daryl would try to comfort her, but she brushed him off, as if she was fine. As if nothing had happened. As if there weren't tears falling down her face. Beth no longer went outside; she spent almost all of her time in that bedroom with the door shut.

Daryl, who was in the woods, pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He felt less than fucking useless. Sure, he caught her game, but he couldn't make her eat it. And he could bring her water, heat it up for washing, but she would just say _no, thank you_ so syrupy it made his teeth ache. It all seemed so damn futile.

Something needed to change, and fast, before the carpet in the hallway wore down from sitting his ass outside her door, because all he could do was mean it when he said he would be just outside if she needed anything. Sighing heavily, he hefted the bag full of rabbit and squirrel over his shoulder and headed back towards the house.

He tried to think of what Maggie would say to her, but Daryl didn't know nothin' about what women went through. Sure, he knew about the cruelty of men - could even be cruel himself, in his own way. Destruction was something he was familiar with; surviving. But building something back up, fixing something... he was clueless.

Daryl set his bag outside; Beth didn't like seeing the dead animals on a good day, and he didn't want to upset her anymore than she already was. He walked into the house, not saying anything, knowing Beth probably wanted to be left alone. Daryl set his pack by the stairs so if she came she would know he was around.

He was surprised to find Beth standing in front of the sink, looking out through the windows. Daryl stopped in his tracks when he noticed her shoulders shaking quietly. Was she crying? The thought made Daryl deeply uncomfortable, because he hated when she cried but he never knew how to make her stop and it always seemed to go on forever.

"Y'okay, girl?" he asked gruffly.

Daryl heard a metallic clatter into the sink that made his blood run cold. He strode up behind her and forced her to face him with his hands on her shoulders. He saw the blood immediately - the red stood out like an electric shock against her white skin. He grabbed her hand in his own and pressed it against her wound.

"Don't move, Beth," he warned her. "Just give me a second."

Quickly, with his head spinning in an embarrassing fashion, Daryl found a rag that looked more clean than dirty. He grabbed a bottle of water from the counter and dampened it, hoping it would wash off any bits of dirt or dust. Daryl moved her hand, holding Beth's forearm over the sink, and rinsing it off with the remaining water. He tied the damp rag around the gash - not deep enough to have done any real damage, but it sure was bleeding a hell of a lot.

"Sit down," he ordered her.

Beth dragged herself over to a chair and sat down. Her face was pale and sweaty. The dark circles under her eyes looked like blackened half-moons. Daryl tried to rid the images of Before; the girl on the farm who had wanted to die. He hadn't cared about her none then; had thought she was a spoiled brat who wouldn't make it anyway - not if she couldn't stomach losing people. But it was different now, and Daryl was shaking.

"What the hell, Beth?" he demanded. "Y'trying to kill yourself again?! Y'just throwing in the towel? Walking away, huh?"

"I just..." Beth said tiredly, "I... wanted to feel something."

"You wanted to fucking feel something?" he spat at her. "So you chose pain? You haven't had enough of that yet, girl?"

"It didn't hurt," she mumbled more to herself than him.

"You can't do this," Daryl said. "I'm not gonna lose ya, Beth."

"I wasn't trying to -"

"It doesn't matter!" he cut her off. "This is not the answer! Damn it, Beth. You gotta help a guy out. I'm in over my head. I don't know what to do with you. What to say. I don't know any of it."

"And I do?" she asked. "Being _raped_ doesn't come with a handbook."

"You should've -"

"I should've what?" she demanded. "Came to you? Told you, _Daryl, it feels like I'm drowning and I don't know what to do_. What good would that have done? You just said you don't know what you're doing. Or what to say."

"Well, I could've at least hid the damn knives!" he shouted, gesturing an arm at the sink.

"What does it matter if I cut myself?" Beth said. "The dead have risen, the living are monsters, and we're all just watching the world decompose into nothing. It's one scratch. It's my body! What's the big deal?"

Daryl turned on his heel and walked over to the sink. He pulled the knife out of it with his back to Beth. Muttering to himself, _What's the big deal?_ he turned around and pressed it against his arm. He watched Beth biting her lip, wanting to say something, but not wanting to take the bait.

"Just say the word, girl," he said, pressing the point of the blade until a drop of blood ran down to his wrist.

"Okay," Beth said, getting up quickly. "Alright, okay. Stop. Don't."

"But if it don't matter, why you trying to stop me, huh?"

"Because I care about you, alright?" she said, huffing a piece of blond hair out of her face with a frustrated breath.

Daryl flung the knife into the sink and walked over to her. Cautiously he put both his hands on her shoulders, and when she didn't flinch, he drew her into a hug so tender he questioned who he was. He cupped the back of her head, thinking how fragile and small her skull felt.

"And I care about you, girl," he said against her temple. "I know I ain't much, but I'm all you got right now. You're my people and I need ya."

She nodded against his shoulder. He could feel the wet of her tears against his shirt. Beth wrapped her tiny arms around him, but Daryl couldn't feel surprised. He couldn't feel anything. His brain was too busy trying to figure out why it had almost said _love_ instead of _need_ \- and why, even though Daryl had corrected himself, the word still sounded right.


	11. Chapter 11

"If y'ever..." Daryl started and tapered off. 

They were sitting in the yard, the fire crackling between the two of them. Daryl had cooked the squirrel he caught, and they were both full and quiet. Beth, whose arm he had wrapped with gauze, was picking at the corners of the white fabric absentmindedly. 

"If I ever...? Want to talk about it?" Beth finished for him. "It would seem a lot more sincere if you could actually finish the sentence, y'know?" 

"Beth, I mean it," he said. "It can't be good for ya, keepin' it all inside like that." 

"Whether I talk about it or not, it happened," she said. "You never talk about your Pa -- not really. Does it make a difference?" 

Daryl grunted and poked the fire with a stick he had picked up from the ground. Did it make a difference? Maybe. Maybe if he had talked about it when he was younger, he wouldn't have grown up so gnarled and hard. He didn't know though. It was pointless to question it. 

"Guess not. But no one 'round me really cared none," he said gruffly. "That ain't the case here." 

"I know," Beth said quietly. "I know you care, Daryl."

"But y'don't wanna talk about it?" 

"It'd just upset you," she responded. "I'd get a couple words in and you'd go puttin' your fist through a tree -- and I just don't think nature's done anything to deserve that." 

"Was that a joke, Greene?" 

"Maybe," she said with a small smile. "Besides, you already know what happened." 

"I don't, girl," he said. "I mean, I do, yeah -- but I don't." 

"Well, thank you for the offer; but tellin' you all about it just doesn't seem like a very good time to me." 

"It ain't supposed to be a good time," Daryl said. 

"Would you please just let it go!" Beth exclaimed

"You got it," he said harshly. "Don't know why I bothered!" 

Beth jumped up quickly and stormed into the house, leaving Daryl alone in the yard with his thoughts. _God damn it! God fucking damn it_. How did an offer to talk to Beth turn into a fight? Why did these situations always get away from him? Why couldn't he be cool-headed, just one time? 

"Hey, Beth," he muttered to himself. "Why don't you g'me a play by play of the most traumatic moment o'your life?" 

It was a miracle she didn't think he was some sorta pervert who got off on that kind of stuff. God, like her rape had been some sort of spooky campfire story. What was wrong with him? She needed someone better with their words, someone to help her. And here he was, just letting any ol' thing fly out of his trap. 

_Real fucking smooth_ , he thought. 

Daryl sat there for a while, until he knew Beth would be curled back up in the bed and hopefully sleeping. He didn't want her to have to deal with him again. Maybe he'd apologize tomorrow. Maybe she'd look at him in that way she had after he messed up, and Daryl wouldn't have to -- he'd know all was forgiven and forgotten. 

Daryl thought about her as he fell asleep on the couch. Wishing he knew what to say. Or at least, that the things he did say weren't always so terribly wrong. 

~

"Ugh, damn it," a voice roused him from his sleep. 

Daryl blinked, surprised to see that it was light out. Beth stood just inside the open door. He squinted at her. She was covered in blood. Dark blood. Some of it was matted into her hair -- chunks of flesh and dirt. She was wiping the door knob handle with the clean underneath of her shirt. 

"Oh, did I wake you?" she asked. "Sorry, I was tryin' to be quiet, but Maggie always said I need to learn to pick up m'feet." 

"The hell?" he questioned. "What happened to you?" 

"The more accurate question is what happened to that walker that was out front. And the answer is my knife. I was a little out of practice though." 

"What? There was a walker? Why the hell didn't you wake me up?" 

"Well, y'see, first I was trying to re-direct it by hiding and throwin' stones. Used to work real well, but guess I'm rusty with the hiding part and, well, once it saw me I didn't really have a choice." 

"Damn it, girl!" Darly shouted. "You crazy goin' out there without backup? What if somethin' had happened?" 

"Daryl, relax! It was one walker," she protested. "Jeez, try to do somethin' nice for a man..."

"Y'think it woulda been nice if you had gotten bit, girl?" 

"What is with you, Daryl Dixon?" she demanded. "You're being more over-protective than my father!" 

"If we're gon' be shouting at each other could y'least shut the damn door, girl?" 

Beth, despite her anger, shut the door quietly. She moved to stand in front of him, hands on her hips, chin pushed out stubbornly. Daryl ground his teeth together, noting the scrapes on her knuckles and the dirty bandage on her arm. 

"Got some water out back to clean off with," he suggested. "Then we oughta change the bandage again." 

"And now you're my mom," she muttered. 

"Ain't no one's damn mother, girl!" he spat. "But someone's gotta look out for ya!" 

"Well, maybe I was tryin' to look out for you for once!" she said poking her finger in his chest. "You ever think of that, you big idiot?" 

He captured her hand in his and held it. Beth froze, eyes looking up at him with fire. Daryl ran his thumb across the small bone of her wrist while she breathed heavily. 

"We ain't fightin' bout this," he muttered. "Either one of us goes out, we go together. We need the cover. Okay?" 

"Okay," Beth agreed. "Can I have my hand back now?" 

"I reckon so," he said, lowering her hand to her side and then letting go. "About yester --" 

"I know," Beth cut him off. "Me too." 

"Holler when you come back in," he said, thinking better of hovering over her while she cleaned up. "I'll help you wrap your arm again." 

Daryl watched her leave, thinking he might hate it when she was angry with him, but he loved the way it made her shine.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I wanted to thank all of you who take the time to read and review. I appreciate each and every single comment you leave. This chapter, guys... this chapter... hope you're ready!

"I'm tellin' ya, girl, the answer is none," Daryl groused, feeling his cheeks turn ruddy. "Sorry if it ain't the interesting story y'wanted!" 

"Daryl, don't get upset," Beth said soothingly. "I've only had the one boyfriend -- two if you count Zach. I mean, it's not a big deal."

"In case you hadn't noticed, I've got a few years on ya," Daryl said. 

Beth shrugged and pulled her feet up onto the chair, tucking them under her. They had been sitting in the living room for a while, just talking, when Beth had brought it up. _Well, how many girlfriends have you had?_ Just so easy, and so innocently, that Daryl knew she meant nothin' by it -- but still, it embarrassed him all the same. 

"Yeah, maybe you're a bit older than me, but at least you can still find someone," Beth said softly. 

"So can you," he replied. 

"Well, in the last couple years I've only come across you and..." Beth trailed off. "Not to mention, guys won't exactly be lining up to date me now." 

Daryl rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. He didn't know what to say. Of course, he wanted to reassure her; wanted to tell her she was crazy if she thought some guy wouldn't want her just because she'd been... Daryl clenched his fist. 

"If a guy couldn't survive in this world," Daryl said instead, "or handle all the shit that goes along with it, then he don't deserve you." 

"Why, Daryl Dixon, that might just be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Nicest thing I prob'bly said to anyone," he muttered, looking down at his feet. 

Beth played with her bandage -- the edges of it were beginning to fray. After he had helped her re-wrap her arm, they had spent most of the day putting up traps along the house. Daryl didn't want to leave if they didn't have to, and the best way to ensure that was getting off his ass and protecting them. With Beth's help, they had been able to almost fully fence the property, though it was far from pretty. As well, there were now a few trenches and traps. 

So today they had both been aching and lazy. Breakfast had been spent smothering yawns and talking over their next run into town -- what they needed to bring, and what they could carry back if the truck broke down. Eventually the conversation had turned into a game of questions, with Beth at the helm. Daryl hated talking about himself, but he let Beth have her fun. 

"So," Beth said cautiously, breaking the silence, "does that mean...?" 

"What?" Daryl questioned, not getting where she was going. 

"Well, if you've never had a proper girlfriend, does that mean you've never... you know...?" 

"Y'asking me if I'm a virgin?" Daryl said, eyebrows shooting up. 

"I'm sorry," Beth squeaked out. "You don't have to answer that --" 

"Y'know you don't have to be dating someone to sleep with them?" 

"I'm aware of that," Beth muttered. "Very aware." 

"Shit," Daryl curse. "Beth --" 

"No, it's fine. It was an inappropriate question." 

"I've had sex," Daryl said uncomfortably, "just... not a lot of it. I'm not... y'know... that guy."

"What guy?' 

"The guy that had his pick of women," Daryl muttered. "Christ, don't know why I'm tellin' you this. I swear, if Merle could see me now he'd think you have me totally whipped." 

"Yeah?" Beth asked, smile gracing her face. 

"You ain't gotta sound so happy about it," Daryl said. "And... those guys... I mean... they weren't your...?" 

"No," Beth said blushing. "Jimmy was my first."

Though Daryl was relieved she at least would have some good memories to hold onto, he still felt a gnawing in his gut. He didn't really like to think about Beth with anyone -- and Daryl wasn't about to question why. 

"Who was your first?" Beth asked, resting her chin in her cupped palm. 

"I'unno," Daryl mumbled. 

"You don't know?" 

"Well, I remember her alright, but I just didn't know'er name," Daryl said, face burning. 

"Oh," Beth said. 

"We were both pretty wasted. Don't think names ever got exchanged," Daryl explained. "Like I told ya, I wasn't a good guy before all this." 

"Being lost isn't the same thing as being a bad person," Beth replied easily. 

"Guess so," he said, not wanting to argue with her.

"And if you met someone..." Beth started, "I mean, in this chaos, would you still...?" 

"Long as you're not hurtin' no one, I say, you gotta take your happiness where y'can."

"What about me?" Beth asked. 

"What? ... you're... Beth," Daryl stuttered, heart hammering in his chest, brain insisting _What about her?_

"Don't swallow your tongue," Beth said laughing. "I meant, if you met someone... would we be going our separate ways?" 

"Beth," Daryl said, palms sweating, "I ain't lookin' for no one." 

"But if..." 

"Well, if they're gon' be stupid enough to love me, we could prob'bly sneak you in, too," he said, tossing a pillow at her. 

"Hey!" Beth protested. 

"I told you a million times, girl, we ain't splittin' up." 

"Okay," Beth agreed. "Good."

"Good, huh?" Daryl said. "I remember back when I had to chase you down every other hour." 

"No way to know goin' on your own wouldn't have been what was best for you," she reasoned. "You could've found the others." 

"And ain't nothin' to say we both wouldn't be dead by now if we weren't together. No sense in playin' the What If game, girl." 

Beth hummed in agreement and their conversation burned out like the flame of a candle. While Daryl was busy on the couch, sharpening sticks into crude arrows, he hadn't noticed Beth had fallen asleep -- head resting on the arm of the chair. Before he could stop himself, he was pushing her hair back from her face with the tips of his calloused fingers. 

What about me? Beth had asked. Daryl hadn't had the courage to tell her what he could barely even admit to himself. That it had always been about Beth. That it would always be about Beth. That he would never meet anyone else, because even when they were apart, every square inch of this God forsaken earth had been about her -- the trees, the sky, the lakes... they were all full of her absence; just like his heart.


	13. Chapter 13

_Daryl stood in front of the farmhouse. He could hear the bustle of people moving, their conversations -- their laughter. Off to the left, by the porch, Beth stood with Maggie. She looked younger -- happier. Her blonde hair shone in the afternoon sun. Maggie was telling her a story, hands moving wildly, lips tugging up in a wry smirk. Beth chuckled._

_"Seems an awful lot like home, huh?" Rick asked as he ambled up next to him._

_"It ain't gonna last," Daryl said in a hard voice._

_"Well, not with that attitude," Lori chimed in from behind Rick, squeezing her husband's shoulder._

_"We need to move," Daryl responded._

_"We have the children to think about," Lori said, patting a hand on her still-flat stomach._

_"We need to go, Rick," Daryl repeated. "We can't stay here."_

_"You think we should just leave these people?" Rick questioned. "They're good folks, Daryl. They've helped --"_

_"No," Daryl protested. "Hell no, we ain't leavin' 'em. Somethin' bad is gonna happen."_

_Suddenly, as if from nowhere, Dale appeared in front of them, blocking Daryl's view of Beth. His neck was torn out, blood gurgling and soaking his shirt. He grabbed Daryl's shoulders with his hands, fingers digging into the bone and muscle. All at once, there was nothing -- just Dale and Daryl and the sum of everyone's fears._

_"You've got promises to keep," Dale said wetly, blood pushing out from between his teeth with every word, "and miles to go before you sleep..."_

_"And miles to go..." Daryl found himself echoing._

Daryl shot up from the couch gasping, heart thundering in his chest. He could still smell the blood -- the sharp, metallic fumes that seemed to linger and stick to everything -- to everyone. Without warning Beth rushed in from the kitchen, hair spilling around her shoulders, elastic in hand. 

"Y'alright?" she questioned. "I heard you..." 

"Just a dream," he said. "Weird fuckin' dream." 

"What happened?" Beth asked, sitting down on the couch next to him. 

"We were back at the farm. All of us. You and Maggie were talkin' and I was watchin' ya thinkin' how happy y'looked. Then Rick and Lori came up, talkin' 'bout how we were all home now. I knew something bad was gonna happen, but no one would listen. Then Dale..." 

"Oh," Beth said sadly, remembering the kind older man who had reminded her so much of her father dying out in the field. 

"He grabbed me by the shoulders... only he was all torn up by the walkers. And he said... somethin' 'bout _miles to go_..."

"Before you sleep?" Beth asked. 

"Yes!" Daryl said, snapping his fingers. "How'd you know that?" 

"It's a poem by Robert Frost," Beth said. "They made us memorize it in English class. You prob'bly heard Dale readin' it to Carl or somethin'." 

"You still know it?" Daryl asked her. "The poem?" 

"Yeah," Beth said. "I always kind of liked it anyway, so it was easy to learn." 

"Can I hear it?' Daryl asked. At Beth's nod he added, "Hold on, let me get comfortable first." 

Beth laughed as he dramatically shoved the pillow back and leaned against it. He looked at her sitting there across from him, head down, wringing her hands slightly. He bumped her gently with his shoulder and she began to recite the poem:

"Whose woods these are I think I know.  
His house is in the village though;  
He will not see me stopping here  
To watch his woods fill up with snow.  
  
My little horse must think it queer  
To stop without a farmhouse near  
Between the woods and frozen lake  
The darkest evening of the year.  
  
He gives his harness bells a shake  
To ask if there is some mistake.  
The only other sound’s the sweep  
Of easy wind and downy flake.  
  
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep."

Daryl was silent after she finished. He knew nothin' about poetry, but he knew he liked this poem -- or at least, he liked the way Beth spoke it. She was right -- it was the same thing Dale had said to him in his dream. Maybe she was right, maybe he had heard Dale quoting it to someone -- he was always goin' on about his books, after all. But still, there was something eerie about his dream that he couldn't shake. 

"Hm," Daryl forced himself to grunt. "Not bad." 

"Yeah?" Beth asked, flicking her blue-eyed gaze up to his face. 

"Yeah," Daryl confirmed.

Without thinking, he offered her his hand to help her up; it was a habit he needed to break, but he liked touching her. Even if it was only for a second -- even if it was only just their fingers. She slid her hand into his and stood. 

"More trench diggin' today?" she questioned. 

"We ought'ta," Daryl said. "Five or six more and we'll be pretty secure here." 

"Oh, is that all?" Beth shot back sarcastically. "Bet you're wishin' you had Tyresse here instead of me." 

"Sure, he might be good with a shovel," Daryl said, "but he ain't able to recite poetry at the drop of a dime." 

"Well, that's not fair," Beth said. "Did you ever ask him to?" 

"Guys don't go 'round askin' other guys to read 'em poems, girl," Daryl snorted. 

"That's right, y'all just grunt at each other and spit on the ground." 

"Y'got it," Darly said. "Now, go get those gloves we found. I ain't about to have your hands lookin' like mine." 

"You've got good hands," Beth said then almost immediately blushed. "I mean, they aren't ugly or anythin'. They're nice. You've got nice hands. You've... ugh. You've got hands." 

Daryl waited until she had turned around quickly and walked away before he smirked to himself. So, he had nice hands. He looked down at the wide palms, the long fingers. Good hands. Daryl smiled. He could live with that. 

~

Beth was standing above him on the ground, leaning on her shovel, sweat rolling down the back of her neck. Daryl was in the hole, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans. It was finally their fifth trench, and the sun was just starting to simmer golden in the sky. 

"Y'tired?" Daryl asked. 

"I was tired three holes ago," she said with laugh. 

"Well, you're gonna hate me, but I think we should do one more. But we can leave it 'til tomorrow. I'm pretty beat, too." 

"Thank goodness," Beth said, stretching her arms behind her to crack her back. "So, what do you feel like tonight? Squirrel and soup? Squirrel and beans? Squirrel and squirrel?" 

"Soup sound okay?" he asked. 

"Sounds good," Beth responded. "I could start the fire tonight, if y'wanted. You did most of the diggin'." 

"Naw, it's fine," Daryl said. "Could ya run in and get the stuff, though?" 

Beth agreed, and after offering him help out of the hole, took off back towards the house. While she was gathering the stuff, and probably cleaning up a little, Daryl thought about the dream again. He wondered if it was supposed to be a warning sign -- or, if like Beth, he couldn't trust any place that felt like "home" anymore. They'd been here longer than he had stayed anywhere since after the funeral home -- they had a routine now -- and the thought filled him with anxiety. He wanted it to stay, so it seemed like with every breath, there was a lingering worry about when it would be taken away. 

Daryl gathered the already cut wood and began stacking it. He looked back towards the window and could see Beth's blond hair -- her head bouncing with every step. _That girl..._ Daryl huffed out a breath and turned back to his task. There was no use dreamin'. 

They cooked and ate quietly. They talked more about going into town -- deciding tomorrow, if the weather held, would be the perfect day for it. They were both hungry and tired, eating quickly. Daryl, noticing Beth looking longingly at his soup, offered her half which, to his surprise, she accepted. 

Beth got up, knowing Daryl would put out the fire and walked over to where he sat. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and Daryl turned, only to find her lips on his own. His breath caught in his throat and for a minute his brain shut down. There was nothing but this one endless second. Her sweet lips, pressed comfortably against his own. He opened his mouth, just slightly, when Beth pulled back so fast she stumbled.

"Oh God," Beth said. "I'm so sorry, Daryl! I just meant to give you a peck on the cheek and..." 

"I... I didn't mean to," Daryl stuttered, heat crawling up his neck and into his cheeks. He felt embarrassed and sick to his stomach and lost -- like he had been so close to something so good and been told no. "I just, I thought you were tryin' t'get my attention." 

"Well, ain't no use in both of us apologizing over an accident, right?" Beth asked, meeting his gaze head on with a look he couldn't quite describe. 

"Uh, right," he mumbled. 

When she left, Daryl pressed the hard of his knuckles into his eyes. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. You're a stupid motherfucker, Dixon. What? Y'think she wanted ya? Why would you even try to kiss her back? What's wrong with you?_ But despite all his reprimands, he could still feel her mouth on his and knew he couldn't truly ever be sorry.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I know it's been a while! Blame my boyfriend for getting me addicted to RuneScape. Also, I'll be going on vacation soon! A cruise to Bermuda with my beau for a week (we leave on the 19th), but I'll be back soon and updating regularly! AND THE SHOW STARTS UP AGAIN SO SOON!

Hours later, unable to shake off the heavy silence that followed, Beth stood in front of Daryl with her tiny clenched fists. He looked up at her, unsure if she was waiting for him to speak -- struggled to think of anything to say that didn't both start and end with the word _sorry_. 

Daryl went to stand up from he spot on the couch but Beth shook her head at him. He could almost hear the cogs turning in her mind. From the pull of her bottom lip, he could tell she was sinking her teeth into it, and wondered if Beth could taste blood yet. 

"So," Beth started, shattering the quiet, "is this how it's going to be from now on?" 

"What'ya mean, girl?" 

"For the rest of my life, no matter how long or short it might end up being, is this how it's going to go? When people know -- when they find out about what happened to me? Is it always going to be like this -- when they look at me, or touch me?" 

"Beth --" Daryl began only for her to cut him off swiftly.

"No, Daryl. Because if this is how it's going to be -- apologies and awkwardness and self-incrimination -- I don't want it. Any of it."

"But --"

"I'm not finished!" Beth shouted, cheeks flushed with anger. "I know you didn't want to kiss me. Hell, I know most men won't wanna kiss me, not anymore, not the good ones -- but -"

"Shut up, girl!" Daryl shouted back. "I ain't feelin' bad because I didn't want... it ain't about wantin' you... I just, it was an accident and I didn't wanna make you feel uncomfortable --" 

"Nothing is comfortable anymore, Daryl," Beth said, "but I'm not some sort of porcelain doll. You don't have to act like I'm gonna fall apart at the slightest touch!" 

Daryl was silent for a minute. He rubbed a nervous hand against the back of his neck. She looked at him, her blue eyes reading a challenge. Daryl took a deep breath, pushing down the urge to flee or lash out. 

"Beth, you've been through a hell of a lot -- more than I know -- more than anyone but you will ever prob'bly know --" 

"And I know I haven't always handled it the best. I've fucked up, Daryl. I know it. You know it. But I just gotta pull up my socks and keep on goin'. And it's hard to do when you look at me like a stack of cards about to be blown down." 

"I hear ya," Daryl responded softly. "I didn't mean'ta. Y'know I think you're strongest person I know." 

"Really?" Beth asked, surprise colouring her voice in a way that made Daryl annoyed with himself.

"Shit, girl," Daryl cursed. "Not many would still be standing -- and the few that would wouldn't be half-way sane no more." 

"You think I'm sane?" 

"I said half-way," Daryl joked. 

"Shut up." 

"Don't think no one is gonna want ya, Beth," Daryl said, suddenly serious. 

Beth walked to sit down next to Daryl on the sofa. She was trying hard not to look at him; Daryl watched her study her muddy shoes. He didn't know how to express to her her strength, her appeal. Like a daisy that fought of the frost and kept on bloomin' -- she made everything around her so much brighter. 

"It's just... after... you looked like you had killed a puppy or somethin'. Is it always going to be like that for me now?"

"Beth, I didn't look that way cause of what happened to you. It was... embarrassin'." 

"It was?" Beth questioned. "Why?" 

"Y'didn't mean to do it," he responded, picking at his cuticles. Daryl risked looking up finally to see her staring blankly at him. "Damn it, girl. I didn't know y'didn't mean to do it! Alright?!" 

"You thought... you thought I -- Oh," Beth breathed out.   
"Yeah. Oh," Daryl muttered to himself. "And I know it was an accident. But just for a second... I just wasn't thinkin' and I didn't want you to think I was tryin' to take advantage. Cause, damn it, you're my friend, Beth."   
"I know you wouldn't take advantage of me," Beth said to him.

"Good," Daryl grunted. "Good. Because it's important to me --"   
Suddenly Beth's lips were on his own -- he hadn't seen it coming -- they were soft, and warm, and tentative. It was nothing more than a press against his own -- a slight sigh. Their pink ripeness opening just for a second so he could taste her sweet breath and then she had moved away again. He looked into her bright blue eyes. She was studying him. 

"You're my friend, too, Daryl," she said softly. "You're my best damn friend. And I don't know what I want, or what you want, but I know I never want to be standin' anywhere without you." 

"Beth, you don't know what you're asking for." 

"I'm not askin' for anythin'. I don't want anythin' to change, not really. I just want you and I. Whatever shape it takes, 'til this place burns down and takes us with it," she said hurriedly. "Please don't tell me no." 

"Alright," Daryl said, unsure of what she meant or how to take it. She was blurring the black and white lines between them into gray smudge. 

Beth fit her hand into his. He could feel every bone underneath her thin, pale skin. Daryl was sure if he tightened his hand as hard as he could, he could crush them, every single one of her bones. So fragile, so strong. Beth. 

His Beth.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves.

"Y'sick, girl?" Daryl asked awkwardly.

He had found Beth in the backyard, bent at the waist with last night's squirrel and beans at her feet. Her shoulders were heaving in a way that he was all too familiar with after a night of drinking -- her stomach was empty, but her body hadn't gotten the message and was still trying to rid itself of whatever was ailing her. Beth turned to him, pale face, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt. 

"What gave it away?" she asked irritably. 

"The vomit," Daryl said flatly. "Y'comin' down with the flu, y'think?" 

"I don't know." 

Daryl strode over to her and had his hand pressed against her forehead before he had processed the thought to do it. Her blue eyes flashed up at him as she shifted awkwardly on her feet. Daryl tried to smile at her, but had a feeling it came out as more of a worried grimace. 

"Y'don't feel hot," he said. "Y'done? Y'should be inside. I can get ya a bucket or somethin'." 

"Great," Beth muttered to herself.

"Beats spewing up on the floor," Daryl said. 

Beth rolled her eyes tiredly and let him lead her back inside. The pair walked slowly, with her leaning heavily against him. When they reached the stairs Daryl picked her up without asking; it reminded him of when she had hurt her ankle -- before all the hurt and pain had gotten heaped onto her.

When he set her down in the bed, she immediately curled into a ball, knees brought up to her chest. After checking she would be okay, Daryl took off to grab her a bucket, just in case. She had told him she didn't think she would be throwing up again, but as little as it would bother Daryl to clean up her mess, he knew Beth would probably die of embarrassment.

She was asleep by the Daryl had come back. Being sick had a way of doin' that to a person. He sat the bucket down near the head of the bed, and stood awkwardly, watching her. Daryl couldn't help but to wonder if she had felt this panicked when he was sick. He was already planning a run into town. To get medicine. Trying to think of a way to make sure she was protected here on her own; knew that no idea would be good enough. 

_Damn it, Beth_ , Daryl thought, _can't y'ever catch a break?_

~

Over the next week Beth didn't get any worse, but she also didn't get any better. He didn't know how to handle it. Beth would be sick for a little while, then insist she felt fine. She didn't listen when he told her to rest -- wouldn't stay in bed -- demanded he let her pull her weight, even if it was just small jobs, until the flu passed. 

Sometimes he caught her staring out the kitchen window. Beth's eyes had a far-away look, like she was somewhere deep inside her mind that he couldn't follow. That no one could follow. That she had locked the door to so tightly. Daryl always asked her what she was thinkin' of, but she'd only give a tight smile, and say, _nothin'_. 

That night Beth ate lightly, picking at her food -- probably thinking she would be seeing it again tomorrow. Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fight off a headache. He had been arguing with himself about the run into town, telling himself if she wasn't better by now, he would have to go. And now, here they were, with Beth no better, and he was still reluctant to leave her by herself. 

"I was thinkin'," Daryl said, "'bout doin' a run. Tryin' to find some medicine. Somethin'." 

"Okay," Beth said hurriedly. "When are we goin'?" 

"We aren't going," Daryl said harshly. "You're sick. You need to rest." 

"Oh, no you don't, Daryl Dixon," Beth said, eyes whipping up to glare at him. "I'm comin' and you can't stop me." 

"Beth, damn it," he all but growled at her, "can't you see that it ain't a good idea for you to be out right now? What if we get attacked and you're too busy pukin' your guts out to do anythin'?" 

"I can take care of myself. A little stomach bug isn't going to stop me. I've been through worse. A lot worse." 

"I know," Daryl said. "But there's no need for you to put yourself at risk --" 

"But I should just let you go, by yourself?" Beth said with a humorless laugh. "You can either take me with you, or you can wait out my flu just like I am." 

"Y'sure? Y'sure you're gonna be alright?" 

"Yes."

"Fine," Daryl groused. "Damn it, girl, how do you always get me into these situations?"

~

Daryl caught Beth looking at the building where she had been held captive. _Shit_. This town was the only place close to the house, and the truck was runnin' low on gas. He hadn't had a choice. Daryl put a hesitant hand on her shoulder. Up ahead, a walker was staggering between abandoned cars, having spotted them. 

"Let's go," he said quietly. 

Beth had her knife pulled and walked behind Daryl. When they had to move past the walker, Daryl shot it, and stopped to retrieve his bow. They walked down another street, and the next, picking off walkers one by one until they reached a pharmacy.

"Your flashlight still got batteries?" Daryl asked her, turning his on. 

"Uh huh," Beth responded, following in suit. 

The windows of the store were broken, but steel bars had been put in place, stopping anyone from entering. The door, however, was broken off -- the bars removed. Daryl stopped for a minute to listen but heard nothing inside. He nodded at Beth to follow him. 

"So, we'll take whatever we can use," Daryl said. "Place has already been hit a couple times, so we'll see what we come up with."

"I was thinkin'," Beth said in a small voice, "that I might go check out the, uh, feminine aisle." 

"Uh..." Daryl responded. "You'll be alright?" 

"I've got my knife and my street smarts," Beth said jokingly. 

"Fine," Daryl relented. "I'm gonna be hitting the back for a while. Doubt any of the good stuff is left, but it's worth a look." 

Daryl left her, headed towards the back of the store. He quelled his anxiety at leaving her unattended; she could handle herself. He had to let her handle herself. _She's fine_ , he assured himself. Behind the counter he found a stray bottle of penicillin, and some pain medication. He shoved both into his pack. He found Tylenol, Advil, and band-aids in the first aisle. In the next, he found Gravol, and flu remidies. He took as many as he could fit into his pack, trying not to think about his good fortune -- feeling deep down whenever somethin' this good happened, it came at a cost. 

Suddenly there was a crash. Daryl was off towards the sound before it had even finished. By the time he reached Beth, he saw her standing there, above a knocked over shelf. Around her was a sea of boxes: First Response, Answer, Clearblue, Accu-clear, U-Check Pregnancy Test. 

Daryl looked up at her slowly. Beth had a box clenched in her hand -- a box that matched one of the many on the floor. Suddenly, it all clicked. Her sickness, her tiredness, her moods lately. Beth looked away, then back at him, that back at the floor. 

"I -- I was just -- I knocked them over -- I was picking them up," Beth stuttered. 

"Beth..." Daryl said softly. "You're --" 

She started crying.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, kind readers, for not tarring and feathering me after this last twist. I do appreciate it.

"Damn it, girl," Daryl cursed. "Don't cry. Beth, stop."

Beth hiccuped loudly on a sob, her tiny fingers crushing the box in her hand. He watched her carefully, unsure of what to say. She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, trying not to sniffle. She looked so damn lost. 

"What am I going to do, Daryl?" Beth asked softly, her voice breaking. 

"You're gonna take that test," Daryl said, "and we'll go from there." 

"Just like that?" Beth asked. 

"Ain't really another way to do it," he responded gruffly. 

Beth looked around her at the tests at her feet. Daryl pretended not to notice the shaking of her hands, or the tears building up in her eyes again. He could feel the panic rolling off her in waves. Trying to got a hold on the situation, he cautiously set a hand on each side of her face. 

"Beth?" 

"Yeah?" she asked, looking up at him. 

"Breathe, okay?" 

"Right," she said with a calming breath, "you're right. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's the flu." 

"Could be," Daryl said, moving away. "Saw some bathrooms down at the back if you wanna..." 

"Yeah," Beth confirmed. "Yeah. I should just do it, right?" 

"Better to know." 

"Okay," Beth said. 

He turned to lead the way, when suddenly he felt her small hand inside of his own. Daryl looked back at her and tried to smile reassuringly. Beth squeezed his fingers in thanks. They walked quietly like that, grasping at each other, until they reached the door. 

"Do you want me to...?" Daryl trailed off, nodding towards the door. 

"No," Beth said quickly. "I mean, thank you, but no. But... could you wait here?"   
"As if I'd go anywhere else, girl," Daryl muttered. "Go on -- and be careful. I ain't heard anything, but..."

"Yeah," Beth said, gripping her knife tightly in her hand. "I'll holler if anything happens. And Daryl?"  
"Yeah, girl?" he asked, leaning against the wall. 

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you... I was just... I was scared. It wasn't because I didn't... trust you. I do. I trust you, Daryl." 

"I know, Beth," he said. "I'm not mad."

"Promise?" 

"Yeah."

Daryl watched her squeeze in through the jammed door and disappear. His hands itched to destroy something -- throw a punch, tear down a wall, throw something that would shatter nice and loud. Instead he stayed still, holding his breath, doing the closest thing to praying he had ever done.

"Let it be negative," he whispered. "Let it be negative. Let it be negative. Just... damn it, don't do this to her. I'll do anything, just don't do this to her." 

After what felt like an hour, a very pale Beth emerged from the bathroom. She held the test in one hand, dangling from her fingers. Daryl felt his stomach clench at the expression on her face -- vacant, dazed. Beth shook her head a little to herself.   
"I'm... I'm..." Beth started and stopped, "it's not the flu. It's... I took a couple of them that I had shoved in my pack... they all came back positive." 

Without speaking, he reached out to her, gathering her up in his arms. When he met no resistance, he pulled her tightly against his chest, holding her. Beth did not shake or cry. She just stood there stiffly, her arms down by her sides, as if she could not remember what to do with them in this sort of situation. 

They stood like that for a long while, not saying anything. The light outside changed to a dull yellow, filtering in through the broken slats of wood covering the windows. Daryl could see tiny particles of dust swirling and moving. He willed himself to speak -- to say the right thing -- just once.

"Whatever you want to do, Beth..." Daryl started. "Back when Laurie was pregnant... she, uh, she was going to try to... y'know... with the morning after pill. We could look..." 

"I..." Beth started, faltered, started again, "I don't... I don't think I can do that. I don't want to be... but I don't think I can, Daryl." 

"You don't have to," he said quietly, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I'm with you, Beth. No matter what. Just... you should have a choice."

"I know," Beth said, her arms finally sneaking around his waist tentatively. "I just... I need time. I know I can't have a lot of it... but I need a little."

"If you do..." Daryl started. "If you do decide to have it -- I just want you to know that there'd be too much of you in that baby for it to be anything but good. I mean... you make everythin' better around you, and if you had this baby, you would do the same for it."

"And if I don't?" Beth asked, her voice tiny and unsure. 

"Then you'll keep on makin' everythin' around me better," Daryl said softly, "and I'll keep trying to do the same for you, even though I almost always fuck it up." 

"I know there's more we should do today... more we should be looking for... but can we just go home?" Beth said. "I'm so tired, Daryl." 

"Yeah, Beth, we can do that. C'mon." 

Daryl gathered their packs, both hers and his, and let her walk a couple steps ahead of him. He didn't know what they were going to do. _Whatever she wants_ , he told himself. He would figure it out -- whether it was just the two of them, or they ended up with another Lil' Asskicker, he would figure it out. Daryl would make it work. And he would love -- yes, _love_ Beth -- _love_ them. No matter what.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all of you out there who hate me now... but this story has a plan, and I would think by now y'all would know to look elsewhere for fluff and rainbows. Besides, if you've gotten this far, you live for the angst and you know it. Thank you, always, for your reviews and kind words. You're keeping this story alive.

Daryl, at Beth's request, gave her some time alone when they got back to the house. He saw her pick up the journal from the nightstand and sit down on the bed. Beth tucked her legs under her, and when she looked up and saw him still standing there, she gave him a small, tight smile. 

"I'll be fine, Daryl," she said softly. 

He gave a curt nod and closed the door behind him. All the thoughts that he had turned off in his mind to comfort her came roaring up; they were loud and insistent, chewing away at the gray matter. _Beth was raped. Beth was tortured -- almost killed. And now she's pregnant. Beth is pregnant. One of those fuckers -- Beth is pregnant._

Daryl clenched his fist so tightly the knuckles cracked. She was up there, alone, and she was pregnant. His teeth sliced into the side of his cheek, biting angrily until his mouth filled with blood he didn't taste. Someone else had touched her, and she hadn't wanted it. She was small, and afraid, and crying. Beth's pale skin dark with bruises. Beth's bright eyes dark with fear. The sum of that nightmare growing inside of her. 

He stomped outside, slamming the door with more force than necessary -- it rocked and swayed on its hinges, creaking fiercely. _Kill,_ the anger inside of him snarled. Daryl shook his head, breathing heavily. He scanned the yard around him, but found it empty. No walkers, no animals, nothing. Just him. And his heart, thundering. And the stars, like the world wasn't ending.

Daryl grabbed the logs sitting at the side of the house and threw them into the pit they had dug. _Just make a fire_ , he told himself. _Just make a fire and don't lose your shit, Dixon_. He forgot himself in the process until the spark turned to flames and the wood went up. 

While Beth was inside, fighting herself, going between the girl on the farm who would never consider abortion and the girl who knew the worst of the world and the men inside of it, Daryl watched the fire. Wished for a moment Maggie was there, or Rick, or Michonne; they were pillars in his mind, people with instinct, and goodness, where he was fumbling about for a sentence, maybe two, if he was lucky.

Beth deserved better -- had always deserved better. 

And now there was life inside of her. Some tiny heartbeat. And he couldn't imagine how she would make this decision. Daryl looked up at the window to see the lit candle still glowing. He hoped Beth wasn't crying. _You're a piece of shit_ , he hurled at himself, _if you could've just not fucked up keeping her safe, just once, this wouldn't have happened._

Daryl sat, and tried not to think about his mother, who had not wanted children; who had gotten drunk and told them as much, several times over. How he had felt her resentment towards him and his brother their whole lives, and had chased anything that could erase the feeling of not being wanted. If she had this baby, would it end up just like him, or like Merle? No, Beth would never... could never... he couldn't make his mother's words come out of Beth's mouth, not even in his imagination. 

He couldn't make out how long it had been, an hour, maybe two, before Beth came down to sit with him. The fire had burned out a while ago, but Daryl had made no move to get another one going. She set a small hand on his shoulder, drawing him from his thoughts. 

"I'm gonna keep it," she said quietly, "and it's going to be _my_ baby."

"Alright," Daryl agreed. 

Beth was silent for a long moment. She turned her eyes towards the burned out logs, as though they were still lit, and just stared. Daryl watched her wringing her hands nervously. He ached to reach out to her, but didn't want to interrupt the gathering up of her courage. Beth opened her mouth and shut it again, then once more before she spoke.

"And, I was hopin', that you... I mean, I wouldn't want them to know... and if anything happened, I would want to know they'd have a parent... so, would it be okay..." 

"It's mine," Daryl said with a gruffness that contrasted how tenderly he put his hand on her stomach. "Y'don't have to think about it again, Beth. This baby will be mine and yours."

She seemed to relax at his words. Beth's knotted up shoulders unfurled and she slouched down a little. Daryl could make out the blush of pink against her cheeks. She smiled at him, her lips trembling slightly, as though she might just cry. 

Daryl brought his hand up to her face. He traced a thumb down the length of her cheek. Beth turned into his touch, nuzzling slightly against his hand. Daryl felt the action down to his toes -- the warmth of her skin, the breathlessness of her affection. 

"Is this alright?" he asked her softly.

"Yes," she answered. 

"And this?" Daryl asked as he brought his other hand up to cradle the back of her neck.

"Mmm," she hummed softly, eyes fluttering shut. 

"No, girl," he said gently. "Look at me."

By the time Beth's eyes opened again, he had brought his face close to hers. Daryl could feel her breath on his face. He leaned in to touch his forehead against hers. Beth did not pull away. 

"Beth, I..." he started, "I want to..."

Beth nodded. 

Daryl brought their lips together gently. He felt her breath catch and release. Imagined his was doing the same. He kissed her slowly, cautiously, until her mouth opened to him. Even then, Daryl contented himself with nibbling and sucking on her bottom lip, not wanting to go too fast -- not wanting to listen to the call of his body that was telling him more and now; but when Beth moaned all that kept him in check was burying his hand in her blonde hair. 

When they pulled apart, Beth slid easily underneath his arm, and they sat there like that for a long while; drawing heat from each other's bodies, drawing light from each other's hearts.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN:** _This is the end of "Here & Now"! Thank you all for reading! The series, however, will continue with the third installment "Life & Death". I hope you're all ready._


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